


should we two become one

by leiascully



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-02
Updated: 2011-10-02
Packaged: 2017-10-27 00:55:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/289802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor always dances at weddings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	should we two become one

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: Post-6.13 "The Wedding of River Song"  
> Concrit: Welcome  
> A/N: The story that everyone's writing, I'm sure, but here's my version of the wedding night of River Song and the Eleventh Doctor.  
> Disclaimer: _Doctor Who_ and all related characters are the property of Russell T. Davies, Stephen Moffat, and BBC. No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

"Hello, husband," River says warmly, lounging against the bar. "You came."

"You called," he says, wearing his ever-so-slightly-Mister-Grumpy face. "We're not actually married in this timeline, you know. In point of fact, I married you precisely in order to save this timeline in which we happen not to be married, not that that's its only charm. And anyway, I was inside a robot at the time."

She kisses him anyway, slipping her hand around the back of his precious idiot head, and he kisses her back, his tongue brushing briefly against hers and sending a shock through her whole body.

"Ah," she says. "Still counts. You were controlling that robot, and an alternate timeline's nothing new, whether it sticks around or not. You can't ignore it just because it's timey-wimey. You'd never get anywhere."

He leans against the bar next to her, propping himself up on his elbow. His face is wearing the is-that-a-challenge expression now. "Is that so?"

"Of course it is," she says. "You're a Time Lord. I'm a Time something. Timey-wimey is what we do, my love. Handfasting may only last a year and a day, but a Time Lord can make that much time last forever."

He taps the tip of her nose affectionately. "Somebody's been doing her research."

" _Somebody_ ," she reminds him, "has a advanced degree. I spent years doing research, and I'll thank you not to condescend. Some of us earned our titles, Doctor."

"Didn't I tell you I didn't want to marry you?" he asks.

"Rule One," she says promptly. "The Doctor lies. I remember that kiss, sweetie, whether it happened or not. And so do you. Besides, it's down to me or Jack Harkness, and I know you don't like to share. I'll promise not to bring six different species home to experiment with either, though it's a shame you're not more open about these things."

"You or Jack," he muses. "How d'you figure?"

"Who else could keep up with you?" she teases. "It takes an immortal or someone with the TARDIS' blessing to keep running after you for a lifetime."

"Hang on, how do _you_ know Jack Harkness?" he says, looking suddenly possessive and jealous and startled and a little bit anxious all at once.

"Spoilers," she tells him, just for the frustration on his face. She's quite fond of that look.

"River, River, River," he mutters. "Too clever for your own good. Or mine, for that matter."

"How could you settle for less?" she quips. "I swear to keep you on your toes, in sickness and in health."

"I like that about you," he tells her.

"Oh yes?" She leans closer. "What else do you like about me?"

"You have got nice hair," he allows. "I like your laugh. Always very handy with the gadgets, though why it always ends in handcuffs I'll just have to find out later. And I suppose I owe you a life or two. Mind you, you're the one who took them in the first place."

"Forgiven," she reminds him. "Completely."

"Fair enough," he says. "Likewise?"

"Always," she says quickly.

"And what did I do to deserve your devotion, hmm?" He brushes a few curls away from her face. "You were raised to loathe me."

"You were every single thing the Silence said you were," she tells him. "Smug, arrogant, brilliant, calculating, and willing to make every decision for everyone else. But you did it for love, and not for glory or power. You made people who thought they were nothing understand there was nothing more important in the universe than they were. That was worth saving. Besides which, you were nearly always one step ahead of _me_ , and that's worth something too."

"Not sure why my relative peers always seem to want to kill me, at least at first, but I find I do enjoy matching wits with you," he admits. "Rather stimulating, as a matter of fact."

"In so _many_ ways," she breathes. "Which is why we ought to get married in this timeline as well."

"What's your hurry?" he asks, but his eyes are full of flirtatious mischief under his forelock, and his mouth quirks up in that way that makes her want to kiss it.

"Well, I am about to be swept off to prison," she says. "Where I shall spend, oh, just about the rest of my days, probably, for killing you, which I did do, but then again, I brought you back, and then I killed a clever facsimile of you, and that's what I'll be doing time for."

"Oh, that," he says dismissively. "That's nothing. You'll be out in a matter of hours." His eyes twinkle at her, a promise and a taunt. "Ever seen what the sonic can do to a Stormcage? No prison can hold you."

"And yet, it would be nice to have some reassurance," she tells him. "I would have let time disintegrate to avoid having to kill you again."

"Yes," he said. "Not very clever of you, really. But I suppose love does funny things to people. F'r instance, if it hadn't been for the teensy little problem that touching you destroyed that entire timeline, I would have had you in my arms before your surprisingly militaristic parents even had the idea of pointing one of those guns at me." His voice goes low, giving a sexy rasp to his words. "River Song, what have you done to me? I'm out of practice at needing people."

"I'm sorry, my love," she says, all false contrition as a thrill runs up her spine and her skin prickles into anticipatory gooseflesh. "You know I was created to cause you suffering."

"I was so angry with you at Demon's Run," he says idly. "Waiting for you, watching for you. I needed you and you weren't there. I was furious with you and with myself. I haven't depended on anyone that way for a long, long time, not for tactical support as well as moral support. I've tried to avoid it, in fact. I've had companions, but I haven't had a real partner, someone who could hold me accountable. Someone who would stand by my side knowing what she was getting into. Someone very nearly as important to my plans as the TARDIS. But I suppose anyone who can manage to make me feel that way deserves to know it." He takes her hand and traces her lifeline with his finger, gazing into the cup of her palm.

"I might have been exaggerating a bit when I said that I would suffer more than the sum total of all other beings in the universe if I had to kill you," she says softly, watching his fingers move over her skin, "but it felt true."

"I know," he says. "Likewise, you can't quantify love, but I believed you. Look into my eyes, River."

She lifts her chin proudly and gazes into his eyes. They look as completely ordinary as the eyes of the man she loves best in the universe can look, which is to say completely lovely and captivating, but that's nothing new. He blinks at her in what looks like reassurance.

"Notice anything?"

"Nothing special," she says.

"No miniature people," he tells her. "No Flesh gangers. Just me. Will you marry me, River?"

"In any timeline," she swears, so full of love with him she swears she could regenerate. "On any planet."

"Earth will do nicely," he says. "Come on."

They hold hands on the way to the TARDIS. River strokes the TARDIS' console with the other hand. "Hello, sexy," she whispers, and the pleased purr of the TARDIS is enough for her. She changes into the gown she wore to hunt the Silence, recovered from its soaking in the pool. He puts on his tux, undressing in front of her for what she imagines is the first time in his timeline. He helps her with the zip on her dress and offers her his arm.

It's no surprise to her when the doors open and they're in her parents' back garden. The arbor is a bit of a shock, though, and the cake. Amy is doing her best to smile instead of cry or scowl (River knows it's a bit jarring, having had a crush on your daughter's husband, but there's nothing much for it, especially when it's the Doctor) and Rory has a backup handkerchief. There isn't much of a crowd: River sees Vastra and Jenny, and there's Jack with Martha and half of Torchwood, and the Sontaran nurse from Demon's Run. Then again, it's a smallish garden, and the only people she really needs here are Amy and Rory. They've been her parents, her best friends, and her bewildered charges. She loves them.

"It's a proper wedding this time, then?" Amy demands. "A real one?"

"Yes, yes," the Doctor says, waving her off. "Just like I promised you. No bits of fabric involved. I'm not going to dash off and spoil all your arrangements now."

"Good," Amy says fiercely. "Because if you break my little girl's heart, Doctor, I swear nothing in the universe will keep me from finding you and smashing something over your stupid head, all right?"

"Believe me when I say I have no intention of ever doing anything but delighting and cherishing her," the Doctor says, but when he looks at River, his eyes are loving and troubled.

"I'm sure you'll do well enough," River says encouragingly. She's wiser than that: they'll share a love greater than anything she's ever known, but that will bring deeper hurts. There aren't words for it, which is just as well. She just looks into his eyes and after a moment, he smiles. Somewhere, music starts to play.

"Come on, Time Lord," Amy says. "Can't be late for your own wedding, now can you? You come over here." She drags the Doctor away, leaving River standing with Rory.

"No really dangerous adventures for your honeymoon," Rory puts in. "And we'll always be here if you need us. Drop in any time. Really."

"Yes, father dear," River says, amused.

"All right," he says, taking a deep breath. "Let's do this, then."

River tucks her arm through her father's - he's nearly as old as she is, now - and they walk down the grassy aisle. The Doctor looks exquisitely handsome in his tux. If the Silence could see her now, she thinks. River Song, the perfect weapon, walking toward the Doctor with tears of joy in her eyes. Rory quietly hands her his extra handkerchief.

"Dearly beloved," begins the officiant, but all River can see is the Doctor, and all she can feel is his hands covering hers. She half-listens, dazzled and dazed, and he looks at her for what feels like the first time. It's certainly the first time he's let her see so much, as if he'd been wearing a mask all this time and only now can she see his face. Love shines out of him, all for her, and joy and nervousness and mischief, and she knows the universe couldn't go on without him, much less herself. Her Doctor, the oldest youngest man, the playful peacekeeper, loved and loving, last legacy of Gallifrey except for the bits of the time vortex bound up in her own DNA.

If they are not for each other, then nothing makes sense. If they are not for each other, then nothing is right. But there they stand, underneath a bower twined through with roses, her parents looking on, and the officiant names them husband and wife, and asks them to seal their union with a kiss.

And what a kiss it is. She reaches for him, but he's already leaning toward her with such concentration that it's as if there's no one else around. Her eyes drift closed and her hands cup his dear face. His lips brush hers, soft and warm and dry, and then he leans in closer and deepens the kiss. There's never been anything so perfect in River's life. He kisses her as if he could give her lives back, as if he can make up for the misery they'll face one day, inevitably. He kisses her as if he's been waiting his whole long life to do just that, and she kisses him back for all the chances they've already missed and all the ones they'll make themselves. She has tears on her lashes again when she breaks the kiss, and he gently takes the handkerchief from where she tucked it in her bodice and dabs the tears away.

The crowd cheers and applauds. There is cake, of course, and plenty of wine and excellent food, and there is dancing. The Doctor always dances at weddings. River laughs so hard at his idea of cool dance moves that she almost collapses onto Amy's shoulder. Fortunately, there are some slower songs as well. The Doctor beckons her and she saunters over to him.

"Miss me?" he asks.

"Of course," she tells him.

"May I have this dance, Doctor Song?" he asks with a little bow, and she steps gladly into his arms. She sways dreamily in his arms under the trees strung with lanterns. In another corner of the yard, Amy and Rory are doing much the same. Amy tucks her head on Rory's shoulder and smiles at River.

"I'm not changing my name," she says to him, apropos of nothing. "Doctor Mrs. Doctor would sound ridiculous."

"Got to retain your mystique, after all," he agrees. "Might even be a spoiler. Taking charge seems to run in the women of your family anyway."

They slip away after a few hours, as much as one can slip away into a big blue box. At least River takes the brakes off, so their exit isn't heralded by the TARDIS' usual squeals.

"Alone at last," the Doctor says lightly, fiddling with the TARDIS console. It's almost too much to look at him and know that they belong to each other now. The light of the heart of the TARDIS glazes his face and he's so beautiful River can hardly breathe. She leans against the railing.

"How long before you have to leave me to the tender mercies of justice?" she asks.

"My dear Doctor Song," he says, an arch tone in his voice, "must I remind you yet again that this is a _time_ machine? We've got as long as we like."

"That isn't true," she says. "Forever isn't really an option."

"No," he says softly, looking at her. "But then, it hardly ever is."

He crosses the space between them in a few quick steps. "There's tonight, at least," she says as he cups her face with his hand.

"Every night, if you like," he says. "That ought to satisfy justice, considering you only sort of killed me."

"I think that might satisfy me," she says with a smile.

"Good," he says, his eyes searching her face. "I was hoping it might. After all, it is our wedding night. Your satisfaction is my first order of business."

"I like this side of you," she tells him, running one hand around under his jacket to feel the warmth of his back through his shirt. "Unexpectedly bold."

He beams at her. "Shall we go to bed, wife?"

"I think we might, husband," she teases.

He undresses her with exquisite slowness, covering her with kisses as if he wants to taste every inch of her, to imprint the texture of her skin on his memory. She returns the favor, undoing his buttons one at a time, sliding the fabric slowly off his long limbs. She soaks him in. Even a day without him will feel like a drought after this kind of closeness. She can live without him, her Doctor, but oh, how _splendid_ it is to be with him. Other lovers, other lives: she traded away her futures for this, and there's nothing she can regret. She has lived well and widely, and she will still, crusading in his name, but this is home, this space created by their bodies and their hearts.

Their lovemaking is slow and tender. Skin slides over skin and they gaze into each other's eyes as if they're in one of those novels she always disdained, but she can't deny the power of it. It's as if she can feel everything he feels, and she wonders if the TARDIS has boosted the psychic interface, linking them all together. She doesn't stifle her moans and the Doctor groans too, their voices mingling. Sweat slicks their skin as they move with greater urgency, completely in time with each other. She can feel the thudding of his two hearts, the trembling of his muscles against her own. For this moment, there is time enough. For this moment, love conquers all.

"Mine," River hears herself say, and the Doctor echoes her. "Mine, oh, my love."

She lays her head on his shoulder afterwards, marveling at the way their bodies fit so easily together.

"Lucky for me you're as contrary as the rest of your family," the Doctor says lazily, stroking her hair. "My bespoke psychopath turned my greatest champion."

"Hatred is still passion," River reminds him. "I lived long enough loathing you, thank you very much. Too long without my family."

"Too long taking whatever you liked?" the Doctor asks wryly. "Cutting a swath through the seedy underbelly of the universe?"

River considers. "Actually, that part I enjoyed quite a bit. But masterminding gets a bit lonely after a while. A girl needs a challenge."

"Yes," the Doctor says, his voice heavy with irony and sleep. "That much I know."

She rolls onto her stomach and looks down at him. "You're not alone anymore, Time Lord."

"No," he says. "If I tell you I'm really quite chuffed about it all, will you let us go to sleep?"

She pretends to glare at him. "I hate you."

"No, you don't," he says comfortably.

"I love you," she says instead.

"Yeah, you do," he gloats. "Me too. I mean, I love you, not myself. Although that too, come to think of it."

"Good to hear," she says, laying back down against him.

"How could I resist the woman who killed me and brought me back with a kiss?" he asks. "Nothing more fairytale than that. Got to respect someone who's willing to let you die, even if she's got to do it herself, or to try to change the whole of human history to keep you from dying. I never thanked you properly for that."

"You've got the rest of our lives to try to make it up," she tells him, smiling to herself.

"Can't wait," he says sleepily, and she lets herself drift off then, safe in the arms of her madman, her Doctor, as the TARDIS' engines hum a lullaby.


End file.
